Inferno
by idiotique
Summary: Loving her was akin to being burned alive, being reborn from the ashes and being burned alive again.
1. Inferno

_A/N: This is what happens when I procrastinate on my other stories: I end up getting little plot bunnies like these._

I think I've found a flower in a field of weeds.  
Searching until my hands bleed,  
This flower don't belong to me.  
Why can't she belong to me?

-_Billy Talent, _Surrender

* * *

**Inferno.**

Loving her was akin to being burned alive, being reborn from the ashes and being burned alive again. It was a vicious cycle that was meant to be repeated for the rest of eternity, a vicious cycle that was impossible to escape. It was a raging inferno with flames so strong and plentiful that no massive amount of water would be able to put it out. It was tiring, frustrating, confusing and pointless but for some reason he couldn't stop. He couldn't leave. It was a heartache, yes, but he trudged on anyway.

He loved her - what other reason was there?

* * *

It was easy to see that there was something wrong with Naminé.

She was slowly swirling the small spoon in her tea; the sound of the metal lightly scraping the ceramic interior of her mug was the only sound reverberating throughout the empty, semi-messy apartment that dreary Thursday afternoon. Roxas gulped nervously and folded his hands atop the kitchen table, his eyes darting in all sorts of directions.

"So," He awkwardly cleared his throat and she glanced up to stare at him through distracted, half-open blue eyes, "What do you want to do today?" When she merely shrugged and returned to her stirring spoon, he frowned. "C'mon, Naminé, surely you must have some sort of an idea. You've been holed up here all week - it's not healthy."

Her puny shoulders shrunk as she sighed, pushing away her half-empty mug and shaking her flaxen head. Her eyes were on him but at the same time they weren't, if that made any sense. "I don't mind." Her voice was dull, nearly monotonous; it had been so long since she actually used emotion that he couldn't even think that far back.

An idea popped into his head, though he doubted it was going to work. He stood up from his seat and circled over to her side of the table, taking her pale hand and gently guiding her to her feet. "Let's just do something simple, then," He smiled for her and the pain thrashed inside of him when she didn't return it, "How 'bout we go for a walk outside?"

She dismally nodded towards the window hanging over the sink. "It looks like it's going to rain."

Roxas pulled her over to the front door and plucked the white umbrella hanging from the coat rack. "That's why we have this." He grinned again, and when her solemn expression did not stray away the painful twanging inside of him grew worse. He shrugged out of his black jacket and draped it over her shoulders before opening the door.

The elevator ride down to the ground floor was not only awkward but also painfully unbearable; the way she just leaned against the wall with her head hung and her big, sad blue eyes glued to her shoes made it look as if she was the most depressed person on the planet, and what made things worse was that he knew there was nothing he could do to make it all go away.

He slipped his hand down to hers and squeezed it affectionately. "Naminé," He murmured to her, and when she lifted her head to acknowledge him he leaned in to tenderly kiss her; it would've been romantic if she kissed him back.

Seconds afterward she pulled back and returned to staring at the floor as if nothing happened; Roxas' pulse began to pound painfully in his ears as his eyes drifted towards the floor indicator above the buttons on the control panel, praying they would reach the bottom soon.

When they finally stepped outside a light drizzle began to flutter over their heads; he popped the umbrella open and hesitantly slipped an arm around the smaller blonde's waist, pulling her closer against his side so that she would be completely protected from the rain. They walked in silence, passing by a small store or two and crossing the odd intersection every now and then. Roxas tried to ease the silence with a few conversation starters but Naminé never gave him anything more than one or two-word answers with very little to no emotion at at all.

After another few minutes of walking she finally spoke up. "Roxas," Her tone was so low he had to lean in to hear her properly, "I...I have to get home."

It was easy to tell when she was lying, but he let it slide - he always did. "Alright." He pivoted around and began to walk in the opposite direction, pulling the small blonde with him.

After another fifteen minutes of strained silence they were in front of her apartment door. After handing back his jacket she wordlessly took the umbrella from him and shook off the tiny rain droplets that clung onto the nylon canopy; he stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets, uncomfortably rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Er," He pulled out one of his hands to rub the back of his head, "So should I come back tomorrow?"

She shrugged. "If you want." She turned around to unlock her door, and the hurt ringing inside of him increased in volume.

"Okay," He said slowly, "I take that as a no."

Immediately she spun around; her eyes were frantic and she was shaking her head so quickly it almost appeared to be a blur. "No," She answered quickly, "I want you to come tomorrow. I do. Really."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Naminé nodded and stepped closer towards him, placing her free hand on his chest. "Please." Her eyes were beseeching and the corners of her mouth were quivering.

He sighed noisily, but he gave in anyway and closed his eyes as he kissed her again. The kiss was just as uneventful and meaningless as the last one, and it ended as quickly as it came. "I'll be here around the same time, then." He gave her a small smile before turning around to shuffle out of the hallway, back into the elevator and into the parking lot. When he finally crawled into his car and started the engine he slipped a CD into the stereo and cranked up the volume so loud the dashboard was shaking.

* * *

Like many people in relationships Roxas had wants and needs, and like many people he had a desire for them to be fulfilled. It wasn't like Naminé wasn't enough for him - she was actually everything he ever wanted - but there was just one problem: she wasn't giving anything _back._

"R-Roxas-" She stuttered, placing her hands on his bare chest and pushing him away. Her own chest was rising and falling rapidly with hurried, ragged breaths and her skin was shiny with sweat. He was nearly the same, except for the obvious frustration etched all over his face.

Roxas rolled off of her and collapsed on the mattress next to her, throwing one arm over his eyes and exhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," In his head he wondered how many times he had said this to her before, "That was out of line-"

"It's okay." She immediately replied, rolling over so that her back was facing him. Her voice was quiet and reclusive as usual, and it only made the hurt worse.

He shifted around a little, wrapping one arm around her stomach and burying his face into the crook of her neck; he kissed the soft skin there and closed his eyes, listening to her breathe. He felt her body stiffen against his.

"I love you." He whispered.

She didn't say it back.

* * *

"Honestly," Axel threw up his hands, "I don't know why you insist on doing this - there's really no point. It's been nearly a year now and she hasn't shown anything in return; don't you think it's about time you gave up?"

His best friend's words rang a hell of a lot of truth but at the same time he couldn't agree with him. "No," Roxas shook his head vehemently as he mindlessly flipped through the channels with the remote, "I'm not doing that, Axel. Not yet."

"You give me the same lame excuse every time," The redhead rolled his sharp green eyes and tore the television remote away from him so he could focus properly, "And every time we talk about this the worse you look. I'm sorry to say this, bud, but you're not helping her at all, and by the looks of it you're not helping her either."

The younger man's hands clenched into tense fists. "I don't care," The blond growled through gritted teeth, "I'm not leaving her. She needs me."

The taller of the two threw his head back against the couch and laughed. _"She needs you?_ Hah," He slapped his knee and leaned forward on his thighs, "That's a good one, Roxas!"

Frosty blue eyes narrowed into menacing slits. "That's not funny, Axel."

His best friend shook his spiky mane as he stood up, dusting off his jeans. "Well, I guess there's no use in trying to convince you," He shrugged his skinny shoulders as he made his way towards the front door, "But really, Roxas - you're wasting your time. Why don't you find someone else, someone that'll _actually_ respond to you?" His eyes darted towards the ceiling as he thought up a list of possible candidates. "That chick at the coffee shop around the corner seems to dig you - what was her name…"

"I'm not single," Roxas rolled his eyes, "I have a girlfriend."

The redhead snorted. "Yeah, a girlfriend who can't even _see_ you."

His words stung; the younger of the two bit his bottom lip and stared at the hardwood floor with his fists trembling on top of his knees. His head was swimming with despairing thoughts, and he was so immersed in them he almost forgot he was sitting in the den of his own apartment.

He didn't even hear the sound of his best friend shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Axel's words haunted him for the rest of the week.

Whenever she looked at him he wondered if she was actually looking at _him._ When her fingers laced with his he would glance at the distant look in her eyes and contemplate on whether or not it was _his_ hand she wanted to hold.

It's been a little over a year now and she hasn't shown anything in return.

A little over a year since-

"Roxas?"

He wearily turned to face her. "What is it, Naminé?"

"Do you want to eat there?" Her unruly white-blonde head was tilted towards a quaint-looking café on the opposite side of the street. There was an odd nostalgic look in her big blue hues when she glanced at the small restaurant, and Roxas had a vague idea as to why. "It looks promising."

This wasn't the first time she had eaten here.

He nodded and smiled for her anyway. "Sure."

* * *

He stayed late one night because she asked him to - he could never say no.

It started out as an ordinary evening: they were sitting together on her couch watching a movie when she suddenly excused herself to leave somewhere. He was confounded but he let her go anyway, assuming she probably had to use the bathroom or something.

Fifteen minutes later he came to the conclusion that she did _not_ have to use the bathroom.

Worry washed over him and he slowly rose from the couch to search for her; he scoured the narrow hallways of her small apartment, looking for a head of tousled, silvery-blonde hair or a pair of big blue eyes but she was nowhere to be found. When he finally stopped in front of the door to her bedroom he heard the faintest noise of somebody...crying?

This wasn't the first time this happened, but it always felt like it whenever it did.

His heartbeat thudded irregularly as he soundlessly pressed his ear to the wood, and when he heard Naminé's stifled whimpering the aching in his chest returned and he subconsciously clutched at it. He didn't know how much time he spent standing out there, listening to her cry, but he figured it was at least an hour or two because there came a point where his knees began to hurt and he had to sit on the floor. It wasn't long before he began to cry too; he squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed his forehead against the door, though he refrained from choking out a sob in case she heard him.

His tears were for her, but he knew that hers weren't for him.

* * *

He knew now that whenever she looked into his eyes she was really looking at somebody else. Whenever he hugged her, held her hand, laid beside her at night, she was pretending he was someone else. When she let him kiss her, she was imagining somebody else doing it.

It's been a little over a year now and she hasn't shown anything in return.

It was only until now that he noticed that over the time they had been in a relationship they never took one single picture together. He scoured his jungle of an apartment, searching for at least a tiny wallet-sized photo of them but he came up empty.

Roxas groaned in frustration and flopped back against the mattress, shutting his eyes and shaking his disheveled head. There were so many things they never did, so many things he _wanted_ to do - it's been a little over a year now and she hasn't shown anything in return.

When he held her she never held him back.

When he kissed her she never kissed him back.

When he looked into her eyes she wasn't really staring into his - it was obvious to see.

She never even told him that she loved him.

_It's been a little over a year now and she hasn't shown anything in return._

The blond groaned again and clutched his messy spikes, trying to force his best friend's voice out of his head. He rolled onto his stomach and pressed a pillow over his ear; the tears were squeezing out in between his eyelids and streaming down his cheeks at this point.

She doesn't love you.

Yes she does.

She doesn't love you.

_Yes she does._

There isn't any room in her heart for you. Only _him._

"Argh!" He bolted straight up and violently threw his pillow across the room, watching it plop against the wall and slide down onto the floor. He angrily swiped at his eyes, ridding them of the burning tears, but it was no use; more flowed freely soon afterwards and they kept flowing until he could no longer see properly.

She had to love him - why else would they be in a relationship?

He already knew the answer to that question but he'd rather not think about it.

* * *

Today would've been their anniversary - not theirs_,_ but her and..._him._

That was probably why she was crying in her room again.

Roxas sat stock still on the couch with his trembling fist sitting on his knee; he forced his eyes on the soccer match showing on the television screen before him, trying to block out the muffled sobbing coming from down the hallway. He could feel the days, weeks, months of frustration bunching up inside of him, swirling and clawing and kicking and biting and gnawing at his insides until he was red and raw. The aching in his chest was gone; the flames of anger flickered wildly inside, burning and scorching all of the guilt and grief he wasted his time over.

He thought of her for a split second and _his_ face popped up. The flames extended to the bottom of his esophagus. His nails scraped against his jeans and his teeth ground against each other. The tendons in his hands strained against his skin. His pulse was the only thing he could hear.

She doesn't love you. There isn't any room in her heart for you.

He couldn't even feel the ground beneath his feet as he stood up to walk over to the closed door that stood in between them; he barely even remembered it. The only thing he could see right now was her and _him,_ and it made the flames rise to the back of his mouth.

Her and _him_ holding each other.

Her and _him_ kissing.

Her looking into _his_ eyes.

Her telling _him _that she loved _him._

_Him, him, him._

She doesn't love you.

Once he burst through the door her head snapped towards him; her eyes were wide with fear and her face was red and streaked with tears. Her pale blonde hair stuck to her cheeks as she straightened up and wiped her sadness away, but she knew she was caught red-handed. She knew that he knew.

"Y'know, I'm getting really tired of this," He laughed darkly as he stepped closer towards the bed, where she was sitting, "All this time we spent 'together'-" He made mock quotation marks with his fingers, "-has really got me wondering: are you really here, or are you just pretending you're somewhere else?"

She shook her head. "I-I don't know what you're saying, Roxas-"

"Lemme rephrase it for you then," He breathed in deep and the flames curled downward for a brief second, "When I'm with you do you really see _me,_ or do you see _him?"_ When she cringed at the end of his sentence he laughed again. "I knew it, Naminé - I knew it all along. You never loved me," He spat cuttingly, and she shrunk against her pillows, "You never even told me you did, not once."

"Please," She begged as more tears spilled out of the eyes that were supposed to be for him and him only, "R-Roxas, don't take it like that; I n-need you-"

"Need me? For what?" He shook his head, "Am I just a reminder of how much _better_ things were for you when you were with _him?_ Do you want me around simply because I'm the closest you'll ever get to the real thing?" He sneered down at her cowering form and he was almost frightened at how he didn't feel any ounce of guilt for doing this to her, "You never loved me, Naminé. You only agreed to go out with me because I'm his brother, right?" When she didn't answer he chuckled and shook his head. "Look at me." When she glanced up at him his smirk widened. "Who do you see - me or Sora?"

"I..." She whimpered helplessly; her shoulders were trembling and she was crying harder now. He could feel the beginnings of an ache pulsing vaguely in the centre of his chest cavity but the flames soon swept over it and he was reminded of how angry he was.

"I knew it," He scoffed, "You don't see me at all." He spun on his heel and made his way out of the room.

"Roxas," He heard her cry, "Wait, please...please don't leave-" He could hear her barefooted footsteps padding across the floor as she tried to catch up to his hurried shuffling; she hiccuped every now and then as she tried to speak through her tears, "-p-please don't leave me-" He felt her thin fingers on the sleeve of his shirt and he stopped momentarily but did not turn around, "-please," She pleaded desperately, "Don't leave me, Roxas - I n-need you, I-"

He wriggled away from her grasp and reached for the door. "Before you had at least _one_ brother. Now you don't have any."

He didn't bother to look back before slamming the door shut.

* * *

He watched his phone vibrate on his nightstand; it would vibrate for at least two minutes before going silent for another five, and then it would vibrate again. There had to be at least fifteen missed calls waiting for him.

He pulled off his shirt and climbed into bed, regretting not listening to Axel earlier. If he did he wouldn't be so confused.

For some reason he couldn't get the image of her crying face out of his head. He couldn't block out her watery voice, begging him to stay. If he strained his ears he could still hear her footsteps. His arm tingled from when she grabbed him.

_"Please don't leave me, Roxas - I n-need you, I-"_

There were so many possible endings to that sentence:

I need you to be here so I can pretend you're someone else.

I need to pretend you're your brother.

I need to pretend you're Sora.

I need to pretend that he loves me again.

He began to feel guilty, but when he remembered how he was never able to make her laugh, make her smile, make her feel happy and safe and wanted his anger would bubble back into existence and his hands would grip the sheets in tight, aggravated fists.

As much as he knew he was pissed about it right now it wasn't going to last for long. It had only been a few hours and he already craved her touch, her voice, the scent of her hair. So what if she never really kissed him back - the feeling of her lips against his was enough to send his heart aflutter. So what if she never hugged him back - her body against his was enough to keep him close.

As much as the flames singed and seared him he knew he was just going to come back. He always did - it was a weakness he was willing to admit. He knew that in a day or two's time he would just come crawling back to her and beg for forgiveness, and then he would rise from the ashes and wait until he was burned alive again. The vicious cycle would recommence and he would continue on with this one-sided relationship for the rest of his life. He would continue loving the girl who loved his brother, the girl he knew he'll never have. She would be forever dangling in front of him, all perfect and shiny and new but just a few inches too far for him to reach.

He needed to break this cycle somehow, but how could he do it without leaving her? How could he do it without accepting the fact that she loved Sora and not him? How could he look into her eyes and pretend she's adoring him when really she was pretending she was looking into _his_ eyes?

He didn't want to leave her - he was angry at her, yes, but he loved her too. God, how he loved her; he loved his (was it even right to say she was his when clearly he wasn't hers?) Naminé, and as much as he knew he was never going to have his feelings returned he plowed on. He knew he was never going to feel this way towards anybody else; he couldn't let go of her, even if he tried. Even if he wanted to.

But the only way to break away from this was to leave her. He couldn't see any other way: convincing her would do no good since he tried that countless times before, and waiting it out was pointless.

He sighed and rolled over on his stomach to bury his face into his pillow; he could still hear her pleading for him to stay.

Maybe this vicious cycle was inescapable.

Maybe he was meant to burn in this inferno forever.

* * *

It was all a blur, but he knew it happened somehow. If it didn't he wouldn't be lying in her bed right now, holding her trembling body while rubbing comforting circles against her bare back. He wouldn't be whispering soothing words in her ear, hushing her to sleep. His face wouldn't be buried in her impossibly soft hair. His senses wouldn't be completely attuned to the scent of her skin. The contours of his body wouldn't be conformed to hers.

He barely remembered stumbling into the building of her apartment at quarter to three in the morning. He hardly registered the sound of her door opening and reading the shock on her tear-stained face. The brief argument they had about how he was so tired of doing this, how he knew she never really loved him, how he knew Sora was the only person she thought she really belonged with, how he knew she was in a relationship with him just because he was his brother, how she tried to convince him that that wasn't true and just because she couldn't get over Sora didn't mean that she couldn't love him at the same time - it was all a slow haze, like a memory he was trying to repress. Or maybe it just happened so many times before he wasn't sure what the difference between each argument was.

He felt her shift against him; she snuggled closer against his exposed body, tightening her arms around him and stuffing her face into his neck. His heart wrung painfully as he hugged her close and kissed her ashen forehead.

_Please don't leave. I need you._

Please don't leave. You're the closest thing to him. You're the closest imitation of Sora. Please don't leave. I need you.

The cycle started all over again; he could feel the beginnings of an inferno tingling the tips of his toes.

He couldn't leave her, even if he wanted to.

He loved her - what other reason was there?

She uttered a name, lazy and slow from sleep, but it wasn't his.

It never was.

Here we go again.


	2. Storm

_I never really ever know what to say  
When all of my emotions get in the way  
I'm just trying to get us on the same page._

_-Lights, _The Listening

* * *

**Storm.**

She hated storms. She hated the thunder and lightning and rain and clouds and darkness and - okay, she just hated _everything_ about storms. Period.

Everything was happening so quickly it was nearly impossible to explain or even register what was going on - much like a storm. Her thoughts jumbled and collided head-on with each other like some sort of mental car crash, and whenever she tried to talk about it the words would just crumble and topple off the tip of her tongue, abused and worn from rewording her sentences so many times.

If only there was some way she could make him understand.

* * *

_Plap. Plap. Plap._

The rain pelted the glass panes like a hail of gunfire but it wasn't loud enough to quell the silence.

It never was.

Naminé exhaled softly as her eyes drifted from her door to the ceiling; she folded her hands on top of her stomach and tried to concentrate on the _plap, plap plap_ping but it was no use. Her mind, her heart had a tendency to sidetrack when she didn't want it to - which was, unfortunately, most of the time.

Groaning, the blonde rolled on her side and curled up against one of her pillows, stuffing her face into the soft jersey fabric and inhaling its peculiar scent: cologne and shampoo.

Roxas' cologne and shampoo.

She groaned a second time and pushed the pillow away, shifting around so that she was facing the ceiling again. She couldn't help but feel a little pathetic when she spent every single one of her weeknights in the very same position, gazing dismally at the ceiling with her limbs listless by her sides and her eyes glazed over with tears and her chest threatening to cave inwards, crushing the very organ that kept her alive.

When was the last time she drew something?

She sat up and pushed her small hands down on the mattress, forcing herself to move off the bed and actually do something. Her joints protested as she trudged over to the seemingly forgotten drafting table sitting idly on the opposite side of her small room, cluttered with crumpled, creased leaves of paper. She took a seat and reached for the sketchbook lying against the angled surface, sighing as she pulled the pencil out of its spiral binding. She had no idea what she was going to draw, but she might as well do something before she depressed herself further.

She flipped to the first page and caught a glimpse of blue, _blue_ eyes and rich chocolate-brown hair that stuck up and out like javelins.

Naminé immediately shut the sketchbook and slammed it back on the table.

* * *

As if her situation couldn't get any more confusing and depressing her phone rang nearly fifteen minutes later.

What actually _made_ things more confusing and depressing was that she knew who the caller was before she even glanced at the screen.

"Naminé?" His voice was deep and husky - so like and unlike the voice she had been craving to hear these past few months.

"Mm." She murmured, pretending to be busy with something. She had returned to her position on the bed, and her lack of motivation was stronger than ever.

"Uh," Roxas hesitated, "It's Friday night. Are you up for anything?"

"Um," _Yes, _"Do you...do you have anything in mind?" _Just not with you._

"Not really - maybe just dinner, and then we can just hang around your place for awhile."

She absently tugged on her hair. "Okay," Her response was mechanical, automatic - like always, "What time are you heading over?"

"How's ten to fifteen minutes sound?"

"That's fine."

She could sense the awkwardness radiating off of him. "Alright. I'll see you soon." He fell silent for a few seconds, debating on whether he should add onto his last sentence, but then he hung up.

She sighed shakily and rubbed her upper arms as she sat up to drag herself over to her closet. She had no idea what to wear, but she knew that when Roxas meant dinner he meant somewhere fancy and expensive. She wondered how he was able to afford such things when...when _he_ couldn't.

They were brothers, after all.

* * *

She wanted to stop.

God knew she did, but she couldn't. She really couldn't.

She was pathetic like that.

"Naminé?" She glanced upwards, peering through the pretty vase of roses, shiny candelabra and crystal glasses filled to the brim with cold water; Roxas' blue, _blue_ eyes shimmered and flickered against the tiny flames stemming from the waxy white candles.

"S-sorry," She brushed a few bangs out of her eyes, "What is it?"

He was giving her that look again - a look of utter disappointment, rejection and hurt. He was so good at concealing his feelings, but unfortunately his eyes almost always gave the truth away and she hated it every time.

"Made a decision yet?" He was nodding to the menu clutched in her hands, avoiding her eyes.

She could've answered his question in so many different ways. She ducked into her menu so he would not see the uneasiness in her expression. "Erm, not yet."

He leaned back and gave her a soft smile. "Take your time. There's no rush." Though he seemed content his eyes were still giving her that look again and it tugged painfully on her heartstrings.

_I want to be yours._

* * *

They sat in silence; she was curled up against him on the couch with one arm around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. He was holding her tight against his side and his chin was resting on top of her head. Ever since they came back to her apartment after dinner they haven't said a single word.

Naminé could feel his thumb absently rubbing her shoulder, and she could smell the cologne on his skin. If she craned her neck to look upwards she would see the blonde mess that was his hair and the blue void that was his eyes.

He would only be Roxas for a few seconds before her heart kicked in.

The gentle yet firm pressure of his thumb on her shoulder would soften into something much shier, hesitant. The sharp cologne would transform into the oddly satisfying 'beachy' smell that clung onto his sun-kissed skin. The tousled blond tufts would darken and jut out into those wonderful chocolate-brown spikes.

But the blue would always remain.

Naminé closed her eyes against him, breathing in the scent of the ocean and reaching up to tangle her fingers in the rich mahogany tendrils. A low rumble in his chest vibrated against her cheek as he sighed.

"It's getting late," She couldn't hear him behind his words; she could only hear the smooth, boyish chuckle of someone else's, "I should be heading home."

"Wait," She threw her other arm around him and pressed her side against his so it would be harder for him to escape, "Stay. Just a little more. Please."

He shifted around uncomfortably. "Naminé, I really have to go."

Whining playfully, she opened her eyes to give him a mocking glare. "But Sor-" She stopped herself, but she knew it was too late. Roxas yanked himself out of her arms and stood up so quickly she almost didn't have time to sit up. He didn't even turn around to look at her before walking briskly out of the den and slamming the door behind him.

She sat alone on the couch with nothing but her tears and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on her shirt.

Or was it the beach?

* * *

She always told herself that there was enough room in her heart for only one of them, and she was so sure she knew which one it was but whenever Roxas was gone it was like a part of her left with him. His absence would throb uncontrollably in her chest cavity until she couldn't even walk properly, and the tears would trickle down endlessly even after her eyes began to burn.

It had been at least half a week since she last saw him - this was a new record.

She sat on the edge of her bed, sniffling and rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. Her phone was sitting on the bedside table, staring at her contemptuously. It was tempting her, egging her on, but she couldn't give in. She knew he wouldn't pick up anyway. Usually she would wait until he called back or sometimes he would just randomly tumble into her apartment at some ungodly hour, but she wasn't sure it was going to happen this time. It had already been more than three days - he always came back on the third.

There was a blunt tapping on her window and she turned towards it, frowning when she was met with the tiny, clear droplets of the beginnings of a rainstorm. When thunder boomed and lightning flashed she twitched in her seat and swallowed hard, gripping the sheets with trembling fists. Her eyes returned to the small white device sitting on her bedside table, and her heart thumped uncomfortably.

One call wouldn't hurt, would it?

After thirteen rings she snapped her phone shut and curled up into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest as the harrowing pain swirling inside spread to the tips of her fingers and toes - never mind, it _did_ hurt.

If only there was some way she could make him understand. If only there was some way she could make him see that she really did love him - she did, honest to God. Naminé loved Roxas dearly, but whenever she thought she was ready to give herself to him his brother would pop into her head and she would revert back to square one: alone, hurt and confused without either brother to make it go away.

By now she would've figured that she had the strength to get over Sora. It was just a little more than a year ago - seriously, she really had to let go of him. He was gone and he was never going to come back, no matter how hard she cried or how loud she screamed for him in her nightmares. He told her to move on, he told her that there was somebody out there that deserved her more than he did but of course she was too in love to heed his words. She didn't want him to go - she never wanted him to, but he did and she was suffering because of it.

Then Roxas comes along and for a second the clouds part and she could see the tips of the sun's rays poking through the gloom. He was kind, gentle, unselfish and supportive; everything anyone would want in a lover, a soulmate, a partner. He wiped her tears away, he nursed her wounds, he held her when she couldn't stand up anymore. Whenever he was around she felt safe, warm and wanted.

Of course she loved Roxas. Who couldn't?

He knew there was something wrong, he knew she was still trying to get over Sora but it didn't matter to him - or at least it seemed so. He knew that she wasn't really looking at him when they met eyes, and he knew she wasn't picturing his face when she leaned in to touch lips. He knew he wasn't what she wanted and it made the hurt so, so much worse.

You don't love him.

Yes you do.

If you do then why do you keep hurting him?

You do love him - that's why it _hurts_ when you hurt him. You know you don't mean it.

Naminé stifled a sob and stuffed her face into a pillow - the pillow that smelled like him. She clung to it for dear life, soaking the fabric with her tears.

She didn't want to hurt him anymore, but she didn't know how to stop.

* * *

Roxas and Sora were brothers. They were twins. They were born on the same month, the same day. Sora was older than Roxas by four minutes. They were exactly the same height.

They had the same eyes: a liquid, vivid, unreadable blue - the kind that drowned anyone who dared to look into them.

Sora's hair was a deep, rich brown; it clumped together in long, thick, gravity-defying spikes that poked out in every direction imaginable, but when she touched the seemingly sharp strands they were as soft as down feathers; Roxas' hair was short, golden-blond and adorably unkempt - the kind that was just begging to have her fingers run through it.

Sora's jagged bangs were strategically swept away from his eyes; Roxas' were almost always hanging over his.

Sora's voice was chipper, bouncy and optimistic; Roxas' was solemn, gruff and intuitive.

Sora's smile was toothy, quirky and sweet; Roxas only smirked, but it was just as endearing as his brother's kiddish grin.

Sora, being the perpetual child that he is, never really took anything seriously and always had something funny to say; Roxas' words were so profound she had to think about it once or twice before understanding what he was trying to say, but when she finally did understand her heart would swell with adoration.

Sora was a beach bum who spent his weekends surfing waves as tall as the skyscrapers a few blocks away from Naminé's apartment - he always knew when it was high tide; Roxas was a city boy who knew every shortcut, every fancy restaurant, every popular nightclub - he had the subway map and the city districts engraved into his memory.

Sora smelled like the sun, sand and saltwater; Roxas smelled like expensive cologne.

Sora's kisses were swift, innocent and teasing; Roxas' kisses were…

She never kissed him enough to come up with an answer, and when they did kiss she never kissed him back. She didn't have the heart to.

Sora made her feel giddy, carefree and childish; Roxas made her feel…

He wasn't in deep enough to make her feel anything - or maybe it was because she wasn't _letting_ him in.

Was that the problem? Was that what she needed to do?

Let him in. Let him in.

Let him heal you. Let him take you into his arms and hold you. Let him cradle your heart in his hands. Let him take your pain away.

Allow him to fill the gaping hole Sora left in you.

Allow him to give you what his brother couldn't.

Give yourself permission to fall in love with him. Allow yourself to feel whole when he's around. Let his love fill you, warm you and complete you. Picture his face and his face alone when you sleep at night. Hold his hand and not somebody else's. Gaze into Roxas' eyes and not Sora's. Kiss his lips, not his brother's.

Smell cologne, not the beach.

Let him in. Let him in.

* * *

Naminé had no idea how long she had been running outside in the pouring rain, but it must've been a long time because by the time she reached the outside of his apartment building her knees and shoulders were trembling violently and her lips were tinged blue.

The air was chilly and damp, and her shoes squelched noisily as she made her way towards the doors but she didn't care. Her pale fingers were paler than usual and the skin underneath her fingernails were violet as she reached for the elevator button. Her hand was shaking so bad she almost pressed the wrong floor.

When she finally reached his floor - penthouse, of course - she scrambled out of the elevator, nearly tripping over herself as she zipped towards his door. She raised a trembling fist and knocked against the wood until her knuckles were red.

He finally decided to open the door five minutes later. "Naminé?" Roxas was standing a few feet away from her but she could still smell his cologne; his hair was its usual blond mess and his eyes were still blue, still vibrant, still beautiful. He was wearing a white dress shirt with a black tie loosely looped around his collar; he probably just came back from work.

"R-Roxas," She spluttered, stepping forward; she wanted so, _so _bad to just collapse in his arms and stay like that forever but she remembered how she was soaking wet so she had no choice but to hold herself back, "I-"

"You're drenched," He gaped at her; he grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her inside, dragging her down the hallways and into his room, "And freezing cold! Did you _walk_ here?" He disappeared into the bathroom to fetch her some dry clothes, and when he came back he tossed her a t-shirt and a pair of black sweats. "In case you haven't noticed there's a _storm_ going on outside!" Right on cue lightning flashed from outside the window and she flinched, "You could've been-"

"I love you." Naminé blurted, and his eyes widened in disbelief as if he didn't understand what she was saying. "I love you, Roxas," She repeated, approaching him slowly with his clothes clutched in her small fists, "And I know that if I apologized now it wouldn't make up for the year I spent brooding over your brother instead of paying attention to you, but I can't think of any other way to express how sorry I am."

Her heart stung when she read the insecurity on his face. "Naminé," He sighed and ruffled his blond spikes, "This isn't the first time this has happened-"

She dropped the clothes and reached for him, clutching the front of his shirt and shaking her head frantically. "I know," She insisted, "I know this isn't the first time, and I know you're scared that this'll all fall apart in a few weeks' time and you'll have to go through with it again but I want you to know that this is the last time you're going to have to put up with everything. Why? Because I know now. I know that I love you, Roxas, and I don't want you to leave anymore. I don't want us to be apart from each other."

She felt his warm hands envelop her wrists once more, and she glanced up to meet his sad cobalt stare. "I'm not going to lie to you," He sighed again, "You don't know how happy I am to hear those words but at the same time I don't know whether to believe you or not. This...this just happened so many times before and I...I don't know if you really mean it or not." He gently pried her fingers away from his collar and dropped her hands. "There's no doubt that you're still in love with him, Naminé; you and I can clearly see that."

She swallowed the large lump that formed in her throat while he was talking and refrained from reaching towards him again, though she wanted nothing more than to just feel him, touch him, melt into him. "I-I know," Her voice was higher than usual but she wasn't sure if it was from desperation or hysteria, "I know I still love Sora but don't think that I don't love you-"

His eyes hardened and his hands balled into fists. "We've gone through this a million times before," He growled just as a bout of thunder shook the room, "You _say_ you love me, you say you _want_ to get over Sora and give me a chance but you never change! You're still the same distracted, lifeless, unmotivated person from the first time we've argued over this!" He shook his head and forced out a sarcastic laugh. "I can't believe all the times I let you do this to me," He shook his head again as her eyes glazed over with tears, "All those times I forced myself to believe that you loved me, all those times I forced myself to think that you were thinking of me whenever we kissed, held hands, slept together..." His shoulders dropped and his eyes were cast to the floor, "This has been going on for too long, Naminé. I don't know if I can keep up with it anymore."

His last words sent a chill through her insides; it was even colder than the storm she had to run through earlier. "N-no-" She stood up and reached for his sleeve, but he kept his eyes away from her as she spoke, "Roxas, please - please believe me," She begged him as the hot tears trickled down her wan cheeks, "I've been too stupid, weak and pathetic this past year to realize that you were always there for me, trying to help me get over Sora and trying to get me to realize that I had someone who cared for me and wanted me around. I was too selfish to see that you loved me," She hiccuped, "And that you wanted me to snap out of my depression and see _you_ and not your brother. I'm sorry, Roxas, I really am-" She hesitantly reached upwards, cradling his face in her hands, "-but I'm here now, I'm awake - I see no one else but you. I'm sorry I took so long."

"How am I supposed to believe you?" He whispered brokenly; he reached up to grab her wrists again, and she was so, so scared he was going to push her away and tell her to leave. She was so afraid he was going to tell her that he didn't believe her and that he never wanted to see her again. She was so afraid she was going to wake up in the morning alone, just like she had been doing for the past few months.

She was afraid the storm will never stop.

She gazed into his eyes, _his_ eyes and no one else's, and read the seriousness in them. She read the graveness, the hurt, the screaming, crying blue.

_How am I supposed to believe you?_

Prove it. Prove it to him.

Prove that you see no one else but him.

Prove that your heart beats for him and him only.

Prove that he's yours.

And so she did: Naminé stood on her tiptoes, closed her eyes and pulled his face towards hers, kissing him for the very first time. He twitched against her in surprise, but he relaxed seconds afterward and his hands moved from her wrists to her waist, pulling her closer as his tongue ran over her bottom lip, seeking permission. She complied, parting her mouth just enough so that he could enter, and-

Whoa, where did the floor go?

Roxas had pulled her harder, so hard in fact that they collapsed on his bed. Naminé giggled as she moved on top of him, skimming her fingers through his blond spikes. He grunted in pleasure, his own fingers running down her sides to tug on the hem of her shirt.

She hated the feeling of wearing wet clothes anyway.

* * *

By the time morning came the storm had stopped. Sunlight was pouring in through the window, casting a warm, heavenly glow on the bed and the white sheets. Naminé sat up slowly, wrapping the sheets around herself and turning towards the blond snoring softly beside her. He was tolerable to sleep beside, at least; when she was with S-

No. He wasn't here anymore. Roxas was.

Roxas was what mattered now.

She smiled softly to herself as she reached to brush the bangs out of his eyes - it was only until now she realized that she always wanted to do that. He stirred underneath her touch, throwing an arm over his forehead and sighing contently. She lowered herself so that she could plant a kiss on his cheek, and then pressed her face into the curve of his neck. His arms automatically, but lovingly encircled her small body, encasing her in his warmth, and sleep teased her eyelids until she could no longer fight back.

The tempest had finally subsided, pushing the clouds away and finally revealing the much-missed sun. It casted its warm rays on everything it could touch, shooing the darkness away and drying up the rain.

She finally found him, her sun, and her only regret was not allowing herself to find him sooner. It really didn't matter anymore, anyway; he was here now, and she was in his arms, and they were together - really, _truly_ together. She was going to finally let him in, and he was going to fix her. He was going to make it go away.

And the both of them couldn't be any happier.

* * *

_I always get it better right afterward  
__When all the wrong impressions are said and heard__  
How come I can never get the right words?__  
I need to convey.  
Wish I could explain._

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* * *

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_A/N:_ The Listening_ was a big inspiration for this story; the lyrics nearly perfectly portray Naminé's thoughts and feelings - at least that's what I think XD__  
Reviews make me smile =) don't forget to leave one, please and thank you!  
_


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